User blog:Verity the Haremaiden/Verity's Songs and Poems
Hello chaps, chapesses and laddie bucks! Most of you know I'm less of the writer type an' more o' the jolly old song-writer type, if that flippin' well makes any blinkin' sense, wot! Well, here's a few of my songs, most of 'em Long Patrol ballads, plus a few tuneless scripts to boot, as they come to my bally old brain. This is a place for me to keep all of my songs so anyway if you're passing through, enjoy! : March of the Fifty-Third Foot (A old border hare Patroller's reminiscences composed into a ballad) :: (fast) :: O the jolly ald Fifty-Third Foot, Have thaer grand ald place in history; An' now patrollin', always forward, They live again in mah memory. :: The wither was cold an' bittah, On that ill-fated Wintah's day; When a-shoutin' Bluid, Death an' Vinegar, We marched intae the bloomin' fray! All round aboot, the night were fresh, As our guid lads wit' vermin vied; Eulalia cries upon our breath, As both foebeast an' comrade died. :: There we were whilst the seascum horde, Our ranks wit' arrows were thinnin'; Wit' lances we hares upon that sward, Made our charge, for losin' or winnin'! Slayin' fox an' ferret right an' left, We pushed onward untae the slaughter; A-roarin' upon the wind, 'S death! We made our mad break for the wataer! :: Ah lost half an ear in that sad charge Shure an' mah ears are mah best trait; Said the Searat ta' me, "Hahaharr!" Then some Searat-wife, lost her vile mate! Aye we made it back home safe again, Those sea-vermin we, no longer dread; They'll never more sail upon the Main, Coz we left those filth scum rightly dead! :: O the jolly old Fifty-Third Patrol, Those bally guid hares by whom we fought ; They charged, they battled, they slew, they fell, Aye, there's nevahr been a bolder lot! :: :: Big Breg Breltin Old Corporal Crumpet could fight a good fight Fought better than twelve it's been said; But no hare's so bold in the Long Patrolll! As Big Breg when 's time to be fed! :: Goodness gracious me! He's a sight to see! He'll scoff all the cake The Mess cooks can bake When 'tis time f' tea! :: Runner Bonny's got a voice like honey Rings softly o'er the sands so fine But she can't compare to Breg Breltin haaare! When that brave chap sets down to dine! ::: Goodness gracious me! He's a sight to see! He'll down a great pail Of October Ale When 'tis time f' tea! ::: I knew a hare who marched hither an' there Marched day an' all night just for fun But though hard he tried, that hare nearly dieeed! When he challenged Big Breg to lunch! ::: Goodness gracious me! He's a sight to see! Of Shrimp Hotroot Soup He'll sup for a troop When 'tis time for tea! ::: There's many a hare that's had his fair share Of singin', marchin' an' fightin' But few the bold beast can sit down to feeeast! When Big Breg starts a-scoffin'! ::: Goodness gracious me! He's a sight to see! The best o' the best Breg trumps all the rest, When he comes for tea! : : : Rubbish Stew (I suspect an otter ballad but I can't be sure ;) ) :: Rubbish Stew! O Rubbish Stew! That's the stuff, fer me an' you! Eat it cold or eat it hooot! That's the brew what hits the spot! :: First take a pawful o' rocks, an' a pinch of dust (to taste), Throw in whiskers offa fox! Aye let nothin' go to waste. :: Pass one rotten cabbage here, two cuttlefish an' a slug, Don't sneak out yet, cully dear! First cummon an' try a mug! :: Rubbish Stew! O Rubbish Stew! Sing wi' me, I'll sing wi' you; I'll take it boiled, burned or baaaked! 'Tis good f'ye, an' no mistake! : : : : The Sharp End of a Lance ::: Wicked weasel, stoat or marten Vile rat, polecat, and sly fox, too We'll send those ver-min all a-packin' A lance can handle any vermin crew. :: We'll take 'em big, we'll take 'em small We'll take 'em just, any way they come We'd rather like it, if they would all Find somewhere else, to call their home. :: Those vermin hordes, don't stand a chance Against our lads, so brave and bold They'll get the sharp end of a lance With compliments of the Long Patrol! : : : Dirge of the Mad Medic (A song written in honour of Mad Maddrey Dickens, Head Medickal Offisah of the Long Patrol) :: What d'ye do when you've skint your paw, Or y' face is turnin' bright blue? What if y' tail is itchy 'n' raw, And you've smashed y' good ear too? :: Hide y'self, here he comes! The Medic! The Medic! :: Fates keep me footpaws safe an' sound, I'll not have any rest or stay As long as the Medic's around, He'll be choppin' paws off all day! :: Hide y'self, here he comes! The Medic! The Medic! :: The recruits an' greenpaws all fear The beast that's ghostly grey an' white He who'll savagely sew one's ear Or rend paws an' bend tails for spite! : : : Ballad of Queen Varinna (Written for SalemtheCruel, a grand beast and no mistake :D) :: (slow) :: All vermin sing her songs o'er the hills and the vales; Of her might in battle's been penned many a tale. She could fight like ten beasts, no twenty some said; By all their accounts she left, all her enemies dead! :: Though the goodbeasts fought they'd find all effort in vain If they fought the great sable, they'd find themselves slain! They could find themselves keelhauled, or burnt at the stake; Aye the Lady's a grand one, and make no mistake. :: Varinna the Sable, Master of All Sobek! Of all vermin on land, and all vermin on deck, The fright of the foebeast, and the scourge of the weak! Nobeast can escape the blood and ruin she wreeeeeaks! : : : Freedom! (A song sung by rebelling slaves) :: This Land held fast by tyranny For a hundred seasons gone by, All families in slavery In bondage, were all a-cryin'; :: Beaten, lashed, starved, tortured we, Whilst kinfolk were all a-dyin': Resolved to make our homeland free, Aye freedom, or die in the tryin'! :: This Land held fast in tyranny For a hundred seasons gone by, Will once more be for all beasts free! Aye, "Freedom!"s our sallying cry! : : : Summer (Being a song oft sung by pretty maids...such as yours truly, wot ;) ) ::: Cold days ended, one can tell Birds are singing, in the dell Sweetly ring old Tower bells Summer's here and all is well! ::: ::: ::: Old Blun Mole (Being more or less a simple tuneless rhyme for Dibbuns and such to learn their letters and such) ::: Old Blun Mole is a merry soul Missus Trinny is his Goodwife He's got four sons, all little ones And they six live a simple life! ::: ::: ::: When You're a Dibbun (Being more or less a simple song sung by Dibbuns to not learn their letters and such) ::: Oh 'sgrand to be a Dibbun, I tell ya, wi'out no lie: Rules don't apply to Dibbuns, So get ya mits in that pie! Run aroun' d' Abbey yards! Aye, do any-t'ink y'please! Eat froots from inna Orchard! Ho aye mate, y' life's a breeze... When you're just a Dibbun! ::: The Life of a Vole (Sung by a grand ould vole) :: (quickly) :: The simple life of voles is grand Aye grand an' nothin' bolder I'll spend me days upon the land Until I can't grow no older! :: I'll make fine brews an' corjuls! I'll sip ev'ry one, aye to tist! I'll craft grand cheeses oho! I'll jig 'til me ould paws go stiff! :: Then I'll sleep some day 'neath the alder! On the lea side of a pretty ould hill! Gone t'woods where nabist grows older! And of delights there take me fill! :: Otters' Drinking Song (Sung by otters and the like in public-houses) :: O 'tis the night, the perfect night, To spend in song, an' not in respite; :: All good ale's for the drinking, Not for in dark cellars keeping; Come me lads, good lads let's sing, 'Til early morning bells do ring! :: An' since sleepin' isna worth the wait; Pass me that noggin o' scrumpie mate! :: Barj Sneezle (Being a humourous song played by minstrels in which the chorus progressively expands as the song proceeds) :: This song I sing is about a weasel , A big fat weasel, Ole Barj Sneezle; He's nasty crool, is Mister Sneezle! :: Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat! So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel! :: Got hisself a wife, that fat ole weasel, A wifey weasel, has Ole Barj Sneezle; She's mean an' evil, is Goody Sneezle! :: Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat! "Goodwife" Sneezle, worra laugh! So mean an' evil, that bad wife weasel! So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel! :: Sure he's gorra son, that Sneezle weasel A liddle weasel, has Ole Barj Sneezle; He's small an' bad, that Younger Sneezle! :: Ole Barj Sneezle, big an' fat! "Goodwife" Sneezle, worra laugh! Younger Sneezle, nasty bad! So small an' bad, that liddle weasel! So mean an' evil, that bad wife weasel! So nasty crool, that fat ole weasel! ::: The Song of a Travelling Mole :: Oi ben to places all o'er ee land, Aye ev'ryplace, both small an' grand; :: Swimmed moi share in rivvurs woide, Runned moi share on seasoide sands, Watched moi share o' ocean toides, Seen moi share o' furrests and...... Sleeped moi share in comffy loam. :: But moi fav'rite place to roam..... ....is roight back to moi likkle home. Heave! Haul! :: (sung by slave crews) :: Ho stir yore stumps ye yewseless lumps Don' wail or whine; haul in those lines! :: Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs, To the rhythm o' the master's lash! :: So cower an' fear, no shoulders here To lean yore face an' cry on...hey! :: Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs, To the rhythm o' the driver's lash! :: Oh Mother dear save us from here, The mate's so mean an' hateful...hey! :: Heave! Haul! An' bend yore backs, To the rhythm o' the captain's lash! :: Will we laugh, or will we cry? Will we live, or will we die? Look the master in the eye, He's the beast who will decide! :: Meggory Dingleby Fiddleringgold I sing in this song of a squirrel of old Oh Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold She was strong, she was fierce, she was fast, she was bold That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold! :: Of Meggery Fiddleringgold it was told She could sing, aye, she sang like pure gold She could dance, she could jig as she leapt through the wold That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold! :: Aye what a robber that ever was knowed There weren't a beast that Meggery dain't owed She could steal like a shadow aye, an' like morning mists cold That Meggery Dingleby Fiddleringgold! :: Category:Blog posts